


two strangers in the bright light

by bonebo



Series: McReyes Week '16 [7]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8716693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: In another world, a black-ops mission takes Commander Jesse McCree to Los Angeles.





	

In another world, a black-ops mission takes Commander Jesse McCree to Los Angeles.

It’s not that Jesse thinks L.A. is a _bad_ city, per se--the food is good and the citizens are pretty, and that’s always a winner in his book--but there are definitely other places he would rather spend his time in. Quieter places, more spacious places. Places where he can walk for two minutes without banging his mechanical arm into some short bystander (and hadn’t _that_ been an embarrassment: Blackwatch Commander McCree frantically trying to remember enough Spanish to defend himself against a rapid-fire dressing down from a 5’4” grandma).

While L.A. is certainly not the cesspool that King’s Row has devolved into, it’s still a far cry from the peaceful deserts of Jesse’s home.

But Strike-Commander Amari’s intel had insisted upon the journey, and Jesse was ever-obedient to his Commander’s will; not just because in his climbing years he was loathe to rock the boat and stir up mischief, but also because Fareeha was downright scary when she got mad, and nothing made her angry quicker than insubordination.

(A small part of Jesse hopes that her daughter won’t inherit that righteous anger. In the brief interactions he’s had with Ana, however, he knows that’s all but impossible.)

As he makes his way to his hotel, weaving through the crowds of people that swarm on the street, Jesse finds that he already misses the desert’s simple emptiness. The quiet of the barren fields that stretch on for miles is much more intimate than the constant buzz of the city’s chatter, where the noise is nigh-overwhelming to an ear trained to listen to the faintest of sounds. He lets himself into his hotel room and looks around at the high-tech gadgets--the holo-screen stretching across most of the far wall, the robotic cleaners in stand-by in the corner--and sighs wistfully, wishing for the simplicity of his momma’s little house back in Arizona.

Her house, where he would chase his sisters around until they were all wheezing and tired, where they’d sneak out to the creek when the summer nights got too still--where he’d lay on the front porch in nothing but his boxers and just let the sun bake him, until he was sated, golden brown, and delicious.

But duty calls, and he’s worked too hard for this spot to just ignore it now. His bake time will just have to wait.

Jesse lets his duffel bag of personals fall onto the bed, and then drops down beside it with a huff. A quick fish around in his pocket finds his pack of cigarillos and he lights one up, taking a slow drag of it as he once again goes over the mission file on his transmitter, letting the smoke billow out across the holo-screen.

It’s simple, as far as these things go--so simple that only two members of his team had accompanied him. Amari’s orders had been to find out which gang was selling weapons to local omnics, stop said gang via arrest or elimination, and return home. Quick in, quick cleanup, quick out.

Jesse sighs through his teeth and leans back on his bed, grabbing for the remote; Qua and Traes won’t be arriving for at least another hour, so he has some time to kill. The holo-screen clicks on and immediately starts to play music for a commercial--an old song, but one catchy enough for Jesse to find himself quietly singing along to.

_“There ain’t no rest for the wicked...until we close our eyes for good…”_

-x-

Amari’s intel--for once--is wrong.

Their high-priority ‘gang’ turns out to be just one kid--a scrawny Latino boy all but drowning in his tattered black hoodie and jeans, with an angry gleam in his dark eyes and a scowl twisting his features. He’s silent as Traes marches him into the interrogation room of the Pasadena

Watchpoint, his distant demeanor an icy contrast to the sweat that plasters his dark curls to his forehead.

Jesse watches him from behind the one-way glass, silent.

Two sharp knocks at the door announce Qua’s arrival. Jesse glances over in time to see her come in, a manilla folder in hand; it’s thick, he notes. He wonders how much trouble the kid’s already got himself in.

“His name’s Gabriel Reyes, sir,” Qua starts, her voice cut clear and sharp, professional. “Seventeen, been in and out of foster homes since he was six, in and out of jail since he was thirteen. According to his file, he used to run in a few local gangs, but he couldn’t ever play nice enough long enough to earn himself a permanent position. He struck out on his own last year, and hit it big when he found a way into the local Omnium.”

Jesse raises a brow--Omniums were notorious for being locked down and secure, so much so that Jesse had seen whole teams of agents required to break into some. The fact that a teen was able to get in and out of one at will, by himself, was nothing short of incredible.

“How the hell did he manage that?”

“No one knows for sure, sir. Initial surveys and internal cams suggest that he rigged the doors to open and shut for him--there’s no obvious signs of forced entry.”

“...None? He got the doors of an Omnium to open multiple times, and didn’t have to force them?”

“None,” Qua echoes, with finality.

Jesse pauses, then whistles, long and low.

“Well, hot damn.” He turns to face Qua, giving her a broad, sly smile. “Sounds to me like the kid don’t need to be rotting in no damned jail cell.”

Qua frowns in response. “Sir, I don’t think that Strike-Commander Amari--”

“Now hold up.” Jesse’s smile fades into something more serious, and he waves a hand at her dismissively. “What I do with Blackwatch is my own business, not Amari’s. She trusts me enough to be able to recruit whoever I need, and I _need_ this kid. I need anyone with a brain like that, someone smart enough to make an Omnium work for him before he’s even graduated. You understand me?”

Qua sighs, one hand coming to rest on her hip. “...Yes, sir.” She pauses, then ruefully adds, “But I don’t think Mr. Reyes will see it that way.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing Mr. Reyes ain’t gonna be given no choice of the matter.” Jesse tips his hat as he passes by Qua, plucking the file from her outstretched hand with a faint smirk.

“Buckle up, Hana. You’re gonna get to see some good ol’ Blackwatch negotiations, today.”

-x-

“Yeah. Go blow yourself.”

Jesse straightens up in his chair, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling and forcing another deep breath in through his nose--he has half a mind to wring this kid’s neck, genius brain or not. Instead, he lets the breath out in a slow hiss, and turns to face Gabriel again.

He’s about as irritating as Jesse can remember anyone being: all surly arrogance and aloofness, like he’s already examined the room and deemed himself the most important person in it. He’s slumped back in his chair with his arms crossed, his dark eyes narrowed and glaring at Jesse with a sour expression. There’s not even a trace of fear on his face, and that annoys Jesse to no end.

It’s like the kid _wants_ to go to jail or something. Goddamn.

“So. Let me get this straight.” Jesse is working hard to keep himself as calm, patient, professional as possible--his confident promise to Qua rings in his mind--but it’s incredibly hard when this kid has spewed nothing but arrogant, cryptic nonsense at him. Jesse can almost feel Qua’s smirk behind him, boring into him through the one-way glass, and goddamn if that isn’t the most humiliating thing ever. “You don’t want to go to jail...but you don’t want to join us, either. Is that it, punk?”

“I’m not a punk.” Reyes spits it like venom, lips pulled back to show a hint of his canines; it’s the first true reaction Jesse’s gotten out of him, the first show of emotion, and Jesse makes a note of it to himself.

Perhaps something to exploit, later.

“Alright, alright, you ain’t a punk.” He holds his hands up innocently, watches as Reyes scowls at him. “But you sure do act like one. Figure a feller like you would be smart enough to know when a golden opportunity gets dropped into his lap, though.”

Jesse leans forward, casually taps at the folder that sits between them, flicks it open. Mugshots, documents, and arrest records spill across the table. “I know everything that’s ever been documented about you, Mr. Reyes. I know how many foster homes you’ve been in, everything you’ve told your social workers, all of the times you’ve been to jail and what for. And juvie ain’t nothing like prison, I’ll have you know.”

The kid’s eyes narrow--but Jesse’s threat seems to have some kind of effect on him. He straightens up in his chair, his nonchalance gone. “Oh yeah? And just how would you know?”

Jesse grins faintly, shrugging one shoulder sheepishly. “I’ve been in both. And the thing that’s landed you in my interrogation room? It won’t end with no slap on the wrist. Won’t be no six months of lockup and however-many hours of community service.”

Jesse’s expression turns serious again, trying to clearly express the gravity of the situation. “What you’ve been doing--there’s some people that would call you a terrorist. And with the kind of intelligence you’ve shown, your age can’t help you anymore. There’s no courtroom that’s not gonna try you as an adult. If the judge is feeling lenient, it’ll be thirty years of your life gone down the crapper. And if they ain’t? You could be stuck so far back in the bricks that you’ll never see the sun again.”

Jesse stops and leans back, crossing his arms; adopting the casual indifference that Reyes had given up. The kid is staring at him, and Jesse’s gratified to see some tension in his young face now.

Good. Maybe he finally understands, now.

“Do the words I’m sayin’ make sense to you, Einstein?” Jesse probes, propping his boots up on the table. He can all but hear Qua’s sigh of disapproval behind him, and throws an arm over the back of his chair easily, rifling through the papers in Reyes’ file. “You don’t want to join up with me, do something good with your life, instead of scraping along as street trash? That’s fine, I ain’t gonna lose no sleep over it. And I’m sure in your lifetime in prison, you’ll find plenty of friends--a smart, pretty boy like you? They like your type. The daddy issues would be just _icing_ \--”

“Shut up!”

Jesse looks up from under the brim of his hat, smirking faintly at the kid’s scowl, how he’s leaned forward, eyes dark and intense. “...come again?”

“I said, shut up,” Reyes snaps. He hesitates, then looks away, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “...I’m not an idiot, you know. You’ve made your point.”

“Ah-ah.” Jesse wags a finger mournfully. “That ain’t enough, kid. Ain’t the right words to say and you know it. I can help you, but only if you ask for it. I ain’t about to bring on someone who don’t wanna be here.”

Silence reigns in the room for a long moment. Jesse watches the emotions as they play over the kid’s face--the irritation, the haughtiness, anger gradually fading into begrudging resignation.

“...fine.” Reyes’ gaze cuts back to Jesse’s face, and he sighs heavily. “I don’t...I don’t wanna go to jail. And maybe I’m sick of dealing with the low-life in L.A. Maybe your--what? Darkwatch?--can help me.”

“Blackwatch,” Jesse corrects mildly, but there’s no heat in his voice. “It’s Blackwatch. And I can help you, if you help me in return. We could use a guy with your brains working for us, instead of against us.”

Reyes snorts and shoots Jesse a sly smirk, leaning forward with interest in his dark eyes.

“Alright, _jefe_. When do we start?”


End file.
